


Kiss and Tell

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: After a three month cosplay hiatus I return bearing smut, Backstory, F/M, In which the Dalish are sort of prigs and Solas gets irritated about them, NSFW, Playing medic I guess?, Super late Valentine's Day fic, Tent Sex, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every scratch and scar has its own story. With proper motivation, Remli is happy enough with Solas’ kiss-and-tell arrangement. Solavellan, early relationship. NSFW. </p><p>It was supposed to be fluff but it turned to angst but then sort of ended up fluffy again; I don’t know why this keeps happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss and Tell

“Really, Solas, it’s nothing more than a scratch.” 

Solas raised an eyebrow but said nothing, ushering Remli into their tent and guiding her to the bedroll. She squirmed into a more comfortable position as he settled her on the blanket, and she tried not to flinch as he peeled back the armor sticky with blood. The mage shushed her protests that she could take her own damn armor off, thank you, and he gently pulled back her sleeve. Lifting her arm, he leaned closer to examine the angry streak of red that swept up from elbow to shoulder. 

She huffed and looked away, glad they had the privacy of the tent as he pulled away more of the fabric. The only thing that would make the situation worse would be if she got into a ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ competition of scars with Bull. Fortunately, Bull was getting his own treatment from Dorian in their tent, and she doubted they would leave it until dinner, regardless of how long the mending took. 

She turned her attention back to her own personal medic, and patted Solas on the shoulder to get his attention, then tried to pull her wrist out of his grasp. “The arrow just glanced off of my arm, and the potions you gave me earlier helped. It hurt, but things are just sore at this point. Nothing a few days rest won’t heal.”

“Hm,” Solas agreed, relinquishing her arm to move on to another scrape, fingers gently moving along her limb to search for any other damage. He glanced up when he found a bruise, watching her with a worried frown. “I would believe you, but you came away from the battle covered in blood. You favor your right foot, and you can barely sit in your current position. Where else were you injured?”

“Most of the blood wasn’t mine,” she insisted, trying to force herself to sit a little straighter. She couldn’t quite do it, and she hissed when his fingers discovered another spattering of bruises along her side. Her stubbornness wilted a little under his probing touch, and she shied away, not quite willing to admit to injury. “Alright, maybe I pulled a muscle when that Templar kicked me, that’s all. Cracked ribs at worst. Really, Solas, I’m fine. I just need to soak in a hot bath and get some sleep, and I’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

“Humor me, Vhenan,” he said, and she knew using the new pet name was a tactic to get her more complacent, but the flush of pleasure she felt when he called her that meant the trick worked all the same. She eased back on the bedroll and he ran his hands down her side to seek out the tender spots. His hands stilled as she flinched at a particularly sensitive spot, and she felt the cool thrill of his magic soothe the tender ribs. She sighed into his touch, closing her eyes.

“That does feel amazing,” she admitted, sinking into the touch. Solas gave a soft laugh, massaging the area with a firm but gentle pressure. He shifted her tunic to run his fingers along the injured expanse of skin, feeding his magic into the muscles and dampening the ache of abused nerves. 

“I am happy to assist in any way that I can. If you truly have no major injuries, allow me to tend to the minor scrapes. Where else were you injured?” he asked again, and this time she sighed, gesturing at her feet.

“I think I stepped on a caltrop at one point, but I’m pretty sure the elfroot potion took care of it,” she said, wiggling her toes within her boot to experiment. “I can still move them, so I don’t think there was any terrible damage.” She laughed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Maybe the shem shoes are good for something after all. Promise me you won’t tell Cassandra, though, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“A healer is duty-bound to confidentiality,” he mused with a quirk of a smile, shifting his position beside her. He continued his investigation along the line of her body, over her hips and down to her feet. When he lifted her leg and examined the sole of the shoe, he tutted, apparently finding evidence of the caltrop in question. His gaze met hers once again. “I am going to remove the boot, but let me know if there is any pain, in case we need to cut away the leather.”

“I wanted to take them off anyway since we’re done for the day,” she said, then grinned, propping herself back up on one elbow. “I don't think we’ll be disturbed for the rest of the night, at least not til dinner, and that’s hours away. Feel free to remove whatever else you deem necessary for your inspections, Messere Healer.”

He finally laughed at that, meeting her eyes briefly with a warm smile before refocusing on her foot. Slowly, he peeled off the offending shoe and set it aside, turning his focus back to the task at hand. 

She yelped as his thumb pressed into the arch of her foot, and he murmured a low apology in elvish she couldn’t quite catch. He kissed the spot where his thumb had been, and she felt the thrill of his magic through his lips, the pain easing away under his healing spell. She shivered, and she didn’t think it was from the chilly thread of magic that briefly numbed the meat of her foot.

“It seems that your shoes saved you a more painful walk back to camp,” he said, thumb rubbing the tender spot once again. His eyes traveled up the now exposed skin of her leg, focusing on a scar that wound its way around the flesh of her calf. He lifted her leg closer so that he could examine the markings, fingers tracing the half-moon pattern.

“That’s an old scar, I don’t think any amount of healing will fix it at this point,” she laughed, twitching at his breath tickled her skin. He smiled, then placed a chaste kiss on the mark.

“An apology, then, that I cannot mend this for you,” he murmured, lips trailing over the pale dotted marks. He smiled as she squirmed under his touch again, lips following the trail from calf to knee. “However did you manage it? I’ve not seen a pattern of its ilk before.”

She laughed, shifting on her side to watch him more closely. “Not one of my proudest moments, I’m afraid,” she admitted, watching with interest as he pulled down the material of her leggings to get a better look. “I’m not usually one to kiss and tell.”

He looked up at her again, a smile pressed against her skin. “What an interesting proposition,” he mused. “Are you sure you would not reconsider?” he trailed off, and she grinned, then fell back to the bedroll with an elaborate sigh.

“Well! Since you asked so nicely, and because your lips feel marvelous, I was helping my father’s halla keeper clear the area of traps,” she said, throwing an arm over her face to hide the slight blush tingeing her cheeks.

“You got caught in a spring jaw trap?” he asked, looking back over the scar with a frown of concern. “How did you manage not to lose more flesh?”

“I accidentally fell onto a disassembled trap,” she admitted, shaking her head ruefully. “I can’t even claim intoxication, I was just, ah, distracted and didn’t look before I sat. Fortunately, the healer was too busy laughing to yell at me for being so foolish when we managed to get back to camp.”

“Distracted?”

She groaned, covering her face again. “I may or may not have been infatuated with said halla keeper, we may or may not have been taking a break from dismantling traps, and I might have been paying more attention to his backside than where I was setting my own. What can I say? I was sixteen and addled with ardor.” 

Solas laughed. “The follies of youth,” he commiserated, then cleared his throat and gave her a stern look. “Da’len, I can only hope that you learned your lesson. We cannot have the Inquisitor losing her head over a boy.”

“Don’t worry, Hahren, I’m much wiser now.” She wiggled her leg out from his grip to toe off the other boot, and kicked it to the side of the tent. “I make sure when I throw myself at someone, I do so in such a way that I always land on top.”

“I consider myself duly warned,” he chuckled, then reached up to remove her pants the rest of the way, leaving her more or less bare from the hips down. He pressed a final kiss against the scar on her leg before he sat back on his haunches to look at the rest of her.

“It appears that this particular jacket has been ruined,” he said, frowning a little over the extent of viscera plastering the fabric to her skin. She shifted to sit up once again, pulling the tunic off in a few quick tugs and throwing it in a heap by the tent flap. The shirt beneath fared better, although there were still stains around the cuffs and gaps where the jacket and armor did not cover.

“It’s time to make a new outfit anyway,” she sighed, wincing a little as she moved. “Vivienne’s been on me to try out one of the new patterns we found, but I just don’t have the same affection for plaidweave that she does. Maybe some nice, non-Andrastian Dalish armor instead.”

“Hmm,” Solas agreed, and reached out to brush his fingers against the spots of blood on the white linen, then trailed them down to the hem. He flicked his eyes back up to hers. “May I?”

She grinned. “Messere Medic, I place myself in your care. Please, by all means, continue your examinations.”

“Lift your arms, then,” he said, using the tone he usually reserved for lectures and arguments about tea. She obliged, and he lifted the shirt over her head. Instead of pulling it all of the way off, however, he took the fabric and twisted it at the last moment, tangling her wrists in the sleeves. Still holding her arms above her head, he leaned her back onto the bedroll, capturing her in a kiss as she settled back into the pillows.

She arched an eyebrow at him as he pulled away, but kept her wrists where he pressed them into the blankets. It was harder to watch him when she was unable to shift up to her elbows again, but she could feel the path of his lips well enough. He brushed a quick kiss against her fingers before abandoning them, mouth trailing down the reddened skin of her arm.

“You already know where I got that one,” she teased, although her voice was breathy. She could feel the heat of his thigh between her legs, and longed to rise up against him, to roll him over and show him the frustrations of being teased. She lay still, however, playing the complacent patient and allowing him to continue his investigation and ministration of kisses.

He moved to her shoulder and placed a gentle kiss on a small burn mark, then lifted his eyes to catch her own, silently inquiring as to the mark’s origin. She sighed at the memory.

“A group of drunken humans thought it would be great sport to practice their archery skills on our halla while we traveled. The halla were fine, but one of the little snots hit a lantern, and the aravel caught. I got the burn when I pushed one of the timbers off of the driver.”

“Did you catch them?” he asked, moving up her shoulder to kiss the little nicks and scratches along her throat, minor scratches from their battle earlier in the day. She was silent for a minute before replying.

“There are some hunts even I refused to join, no matter the circumstances,” she said at last, squirming a little as he nipped at her throat. He hummed his approval along her skin, then trailed his mouth lower, kissing the faint lines along her collarbone.

“You might remember those, too,” she huffed. “I got them when a mountain fell on my head,” she said, remembering the bitter cold of snow and the numbness of exhaustion and shock. His lips traveled farther down along her skin, and she shivered under his touch. His fingers moved along her ribs to her breast band, then they deftly pushed it aside. A warm mouth replaced his fingers, and she arched into the touch.

“Unless I’ve forgotten something, I don’t have any scars on my breasts,” she gasped, digging in her heels to rise up against him. She felt the answering grin and the kiss he gave once more for good measure.

“I fear they are a distraction,” he intoned, moving his hand to replace his mouth while his lips traveled to the other peak. 

“And the kiss?

“A precaution. One’s investigations must be thorough, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed, voice hitched even higher. Her fingers gripped her shirt tighter, and her toes flexed in the blanket. She bit her lip as teeth grazed the sensitive skin, and she bucked against him again, trying to pull him closer with her knee. He pulled away, placing his hands on her hips to settle her back down.

“Patience,” he laughed as she allowed a growl of frustration to escape. His expression grew more serious as his fingers trailed along her hips, following the jagged lines of scar tissue that ran across her abdomen. She stilled, the light mirth dying between them as he studied the sweeping marks. His hands came to rest below her navel, and she closed her eyes, throat tightening.

“This is old,” he said at last, his voice light. Not pressing, but questioning, trying to gauge whether or not she would tell him more. She buried her face against her arm, taking in a deep breath.

“It was shortly after I turned 18,” she agreed. Then, with a bit more bitterness in her voice, she sighed, “Another mark of youthful folly.”

“Animal?” he asked, running his fingers along the long lines.

“Great Bear. I was stupid, hunting on my own, and ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She shivered, remembering the numbing chill that had crept over her as she bled out on the forest floor. 

“You need not speak of it,” Solas murmured, pulling back, giving her space. She shook her head, taking a deep breath.

“No, it’s alright. Like I said, it was a long time ago.” She paused, frowning at the canvas ceiling above her. “To be honest, I don’t really remember much of what actually happened. I know that I was skinning my kills when a few wolves came out of nowhere to steal the meat. I think the noise of me fighting them off is what brought the bear.”

Solas’s hand was warm against her stomach, and she focused on that heat to help her fight back the memory of aching cold. “I’m not sure what happened next,” she admitted, taking a deep breath. “I think the bear swatted me out of the way, and I hit my head on a rock. I drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, and Deshanna said that I would have bled out if the other hunters hadn’t found me. When I next came to, everything was… different.”

She trembled again, remembering the cloyingly sweet smell of healing potions mixed with the copper tang of blood, and the painful pangs that rippled from newly healed skin and puckered scars every time she moved. The emptiness that had overwhelmed her that night she awoke, and the resulting fallout in the weeks and years to come. 

“The healers did what they could, but the damage was extensive. They had to… I should have died that day, everyone said—and then I woke up and it was, I was… I..,” she gulped and dragged her hands over her face, pressing the shirt against her skin to will back the damn tears that pricked at her eyes. 

“They told me the scarring was too extensive. That I couldn’t bear any children, and that if I did manage to get pregnant I would either miscarry or risk internal bleeding,” she said in a rush, drawing tighter in on herself. “I failed my duty to my clan.”

Closing her eyes, she could still see the look of disappointment and irritation on her father’s face, and Deshanna’s sympathetic resignation. She’d lost everything that day, more than she was willing to put to words, but she’d brought it on herself. 

Admitting it now, she waited for Solas to react—would he want children? Would he stay with her despite knowing that she couldn’t give him a family? They’d never spoken of such things; there had never been a good time, and he was such a private person, she’d never felt comfortable asking him. But he was kind to the orphans under Mother Giselle’s care, and he’d make such a loving and tender father, surely he would—

She felt the gentle press of lips upon her skin. 

That touch calmed her in an instant, his gesture a silent response to her fretful thoughts. Solas trailed his fingers along her scarred flesh, mouth whispering quiet words too indistinct and arcane for her to understand. He reached up and moved her hands out of the way, freeing her from the shirt at last and cradling her face in his hands. He kissed away her tears, then kissed her cheeks, her chin, her lips. He lay above her, sheltering her body beneath him, surrounding her in warmth and comfort.

“You are perfect as you are,” he murmured, kissing away her protests and she started to speak. “Vhenan, I would not have you any other way. You should not feel ashamed of such things.”

“But I was supposed to—“

“Forgive me, but if the Dalish cannot see your value beyond populating the clan, then they are greater fools than I thought.” She started to argue again, irritated that he would bring up that particular bone of contention, but he silenced her with a brush of his thumb over her lips.

“You are astounding in all that you are. You continue to surprise me at every turn, and I would not change a thing.”

“But I—“

“Peace, Vhenan,” he interrupted again, burying his face in her hair, pressing further into their embrace. The heat of his body against her, and the tenderness of his words and actions had her melting against him. She slid her arms around him and returned the embrace, brushing her own lips against the tip of his ear. 

“Solas,” she sighed. “ _Avy isalal na, ma Vhenan._ Thank you.”

“ _Ma neral_ ,” he purred against her neck. He gave her a gentle nip, then kissed the spot before pulling away. “Now, I believe I was in the middle of an examination…”

He moved back to her hips and kissed her scars once more for good measure, then moved his attention downwards, pulling aside her last scrap of cloth as he progressed lower and lower. 

She let out a gentle gasp and gripped the bedroll as he used those clever, clever lips of his. How could she be unhappy when he still loved her, despite everything, and then he said and did then nicest things. Gods, how she loved his lips. She should commission Maryden to write a song about his lips. Josie could find a sculptor to immortalize those lips in marble. She’d have Banon search the archives to see if there had ever been anyone else in all of history who’d been half as clever with their lips— ohh, and tongue. That blessed, quick and clever and absolutely marvelous tongue.

She must have made some sort of noise, because he chuckled and shifted his hands back to her hips to keep her in place.

“Patience,” he laughed, nuzzling her inner thigh.

“So-las!” she complained, flushing with embarrassment when it came out more as a whine. He chuckled, licking his lips and watching her from under narrowed eyes. She wriggled beneath him, giving a short, frustrated cry. 

“Solas,” she tried again, getting her voice more under control, “You can’t stop now, please. You can’t just go about doing things like that and then stop. It’s just… just… mean.”

He pressed an apologetic kiss to the affronted spot, flicking his tongue across the flesh before withdrawing once again. She cursed, fingers digging into the blankets and flexing her legs around his waist to catch him.

“I sincerely hope that the only reason you’re pulling away is to figure out what you’re going to do next,” she panted, refusing to unlock her legs from around his waist as he tried to sit back on the bedroll.

“I planned on removing the rest of my clothes and then ravishing you into a dazed and blissful state,” he replied, manner of fact. He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to give you a sleeping potion and leave you to rest.”

She managed a noise somewhere between angry and wanton. “That is acceptable,” she agreed, and loosened her legs around him. She sat up and helped him shuck off the rest of his armor, then pulled him back down against her when he was bare.

“I love you,” she said, hoping he could hear the gratitude and emotion in her voice, wishing she could put into words what she felt about him. If his answering kiss was any indication, he knew what she wanted to say.

She let out a soft moan as he pressed inside her, his movement slow and gentle. She kept her arms around him, keeping him as close as she could, rocking with him to drive him even deeper. 

Their coupling was slow and tender, Solas still peppering her with kisses, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear as he moved with her. She couldn’t make out the words in her unfocused state, not that she even knew all of them anyway. Her focus was on the solid weight above her, and the heat of him inside her. When he shifted to adjust the angle, she tightened around him, urging him deeper still.

Close as they were, she felt him tremble before he came, and she increased her own pace to ride him through it. A few minutes later, she clenched around him and shuddered with a moan as she followed him. They lay panting, still entwined, and Solas kissed her again.

“Beautiful,” he assured her, withdrawing at last and pulling her against his chest. She hummed softly, feeling as relaxed as he’d promised. She had hoped to stay awake a bit longer to return the favor, but her eyes felt heavy, and she started to drift off. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she should give him a thorough examination as well, perhaps after dinner.

 

_ _ _

 

When the scout called out that dinner was ready, Remli was first to leave the tent, opting for a simple tunic and leggings, rather than bothering with armor. It would be an early night, and she’d be stripping out of her clothes as soon as she was able to herd Solas back into the tent, so she went for comfort. That, and she’d have to spend some time rummaging around in her packs for something else to wear. Solas hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the overcoat was ruined.

She thanked the scout for the plate of food, then, headed over to the campfire. Bull was already there, apparently recovered from the cuts and bruises he’d gotten earlier in the fight. Dorian might not claim to be the best healer of the group, but he’d patched up his amatus well enough.

She gave Bull a brief hello and settled down beside him, breaking one of the biscuits and dipping it into the mystery meat stew. For his part, Bull gave her an odd look, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. Then he turned his attention back toward the tents.

“Hey Solas, I think you missed a spot!” he shouted. Solas stepped out of the tent, attired pristine and in place, looking none the worse for wear.

“I did not,” was the mild reply. He walked over to kiss her forehead before retreating to the other side of the fire, collecting the tray of food offered to him. Bull whistled and then laughed, slapping his thigh.

“Haha, you know what? You’re alright,” the warrior chuckled, tucking back into his own meal. 

Remli sat for a minute, confused, and turned back to Solas to see if he would explain. However, he was intently studying the mystery meat on his plate, and did not look up for all that she knew he felt her eyes on him. 

As usual, it was Dorian to clear things up, giving her a cheeky grin as he dished out a bowl of soup for himself, then sat down on the log next to Solas. He clapped his fellow mage on the shoulder, chuckling.

“I’m glad to see that we were not the only ones to find our afternoon invigorating,” he laughed. Remli’s eyes widened, then her hand flew up to her neck. She couldn’t feel anything, but given the smug expressions on Bull’s and Dorian’s faces, and Solas’ slight smile, she was sure that there was probably a hickey.

“Solas!” she protested, feeling her cheeks flush as his smile grew to a grin. “What kind of medic leaves visible marks on their patient? Dorian, get rid of it for me, won’t you?”

“Not a chance,” he laughed. “You look fit as a fiddle to me.”

“I shall be happy to provide any further ministrations you require after dinner, Inquisitor,” replied Solas.

“Damn, Solas,” Bull gave him an appraising look. “You’re one hell of a smooth talker. No wonder she fell for you. I approve, Boss. You kids have fun tonight.”

“Just try to keep it down,” quipped Dorian, which earned him a scathing look.

“I’m going to make you all wear plaidweave,” she muttered, wishing she had a scarf or something to wrap around her neck.

“Really now, Inquisitor,” laughed Dorian, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’m sure that Solas will be happy to kiss it better for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a tremendous thank you to FenxShiral for the translation!
> 
>  _Avy isalal na, ma vhenan._ – I was needing you, my heart
> 
>  _Ma neral_ \-- My pleasure
> 
> As a side read, you might want to  check out one of the head-cannon posts I wrote about Dalish traditions to put Remli’s reactions into perspective. 


End file.
